


just a little disconnected

by slyther_ing



Series: named for you (made for you) [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: #protectPercyWeasley, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Making Out, Marcus assumes, Oliver overthinks, Rutting, idiot boys sorting out emotions, the real focus is on emotions but I ended up writing smut bc I have no self control, this is just my need to cement the fact that they are bfs and lowkey already in love with each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 14:13:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7466451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slyther_ing/pseuds/slyther_ing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver overthinks, Marcus assumes, and Percy really, really did not need to see his best friend with his tongue down someone's throat.</p><p>(In which Marcus stops denying, and attempts to set the record straight)</p>
            </blockquote>





	just a little disconnected

**Author's Note:**

> This fic follows "but good things don't come easy", but it can still (hopefully) be read as a stand alone! It's a short drabble with a bit more humor because as much as I love pining, I love fluffy Quidditch captains as well.
> 
> Again, Marcus and Oliver don't belong to me - or else Pottermore would have that 12k biography about them by this point.
> 
> Enjoy!

It’s hot.

It’s bloody hot and its winter, for god’s sake, so why he’s sweltering right now makes no sense. His shirt is sticking to his back and there’s sweat beading at his temple and slow-slipping down his neck and the tie around his collar feels like a noose. Marcus stares longingly at the window, and normally he’d fling it wide open without a second thought, winter chill be damned. Right now, though, he can’t even reach it, because there’s a hot mass of Gryffindor Keeper settled on his lap.

Oliver snores lightly in his sleep, and Marcus groans as he’s pressed back further into the headboard as the younger boy snuggles in further. How the brunet is managing to sleep in this hot ass stuffy dorm, with the covers pulled up, no less, is beyond Marcus and he’s two seconds away from shoving Wood onto the ground and throwing himself out into the snow. 

Except Oliver’s kind of cute when his mouth is gaping open like that, lashes fluttering once in a while. Marcus wipes a sweaty hand down his face and groans internally at suddenly becoming a ginormous sap. Hanging around with Gryffindors too much can do that to you, apparently.

They’re in Oliver’s dorm, meant to be studying for Charms. Marcus is shit at it, Oliver isn’t – it’s mutually beneficial because once he’s mastered what they’re working on, Marcus tends to thank Oliver with, ahem, something else. As it’s just Wood and Weasley as seventh year Gryffindors, the dorm is fairly spacious, with only two beds taking up the room.

It’s too cozy for Marcus’s tastes though, so used to the cool marble floors in Slytherin. Hence the sweating, because it seem as if Gryffindors are particularly averse to the cold, so it’s much, much hotter up in Gryffindor tower than down in Slytherin. Bloody hell, there are even added blankets on everyone’s bed. Marcus wants to bash whoever thought that was a good idea.

He longs for the feel of wind whipping through his hair, longs for the hours of endless practice he can get in once he’s back home, regardless of the snow. Extreme conditions make a stronger player, after all.

Winter break is coming up two weeks from now, and while he’s determined to amp up practice once they return from break (along with a bit more yelling at Malfoy), he also needs to make sure he doesn’t fail another year.

They’re supposed to be studying, so how they winded up deciding a nap was better is beyond Marcus. Not that he complains. Sleep over studying any day. But he does need his NEWTS, and Charms are getting the better of him. If the Magpies will uphold their end of the contract, he needs to uphold his, and P’s are not something they condone.

Marcus sneers at the thought. He’s pretty sure that a NEWT in Herbology isn’t going to help anyone when they’re on a broomstick, but whatever their ponce of a manager says. He just wants to play.

Oliver wriggles closer in his sleep, ass brushing back against Marcus’s lap and he stifles a moan at the contact.

Great.

Hot and turned on, that’s the perfect combination. Marcus bites his cheek, in an attempt to keep from shaking the Keeper awake and demanding attention. Attention, or at least maybe some of the usual coolness of the dungeons. He tries to inch the brunet a bit off of him, so to at least strip off his shirt from where it’s sticking onto him like a second skin.

Marcus manages halfway, before Oliver is again writhing closer and making pleased little hums in his sleep. The Slytherin groans. All that expanse of Wood’s pale skin is peeking out from under the covers (Oliver had at least had the sense to shed his top _before_ the nap) and Marcus wants to bite and lick it, mark it up.

Not helpful, he hisses to his brain, as his cock responds to the movement on his lap. No. No, he has to study, which means no getting turned on, no getting distracted by that gorgeous dip in his Wood’s collarbone, no thinking about pressing Oliver into the sheets and kissing him breathless, rolling against his hips…

Okay, Marcus concedes, so maybe he’s not that good at talking himself out of impulses.

Or just in general not thinking with his dick when he’s around Oliver, because god fucking damn it, that boy is a tease. Marcus slides his way out from under the Keeper, tosses his shirt onto a chair, and now he’s the one on top of Oliver, deciding a hearty ‘fuck it’ and attaching himself to that bared neck with fervor.

Oliver awakens with a start, probably more from the loss of Marcus as a pillow than what’s going on on his neck, but he realizes it soon enough.

“What…?” The Keeper mumbles thickly, but doesn’t protest. “Marcus-” He lets out a small moan as Marcus sucks a little more harshly.

“S’what you get for squirming around like that. Honestly, _Wood,_ do you ever stay still?” Marcus nips underneath Oliver’s jawline as the younger boy lets out a breathy laugh.

Oliver’s eyes flutter closed again at the warm comfortable arousal spreading through his body. “Was having a _nice_ dream.” And he leans up to connect their mouths, lazily tracing Marcus’s lips with his tongue.

Marcus pulls away, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What kind of dream?”

Oliver scans his face mischievously. He grabs one of Marcus’s calloused hands and runs it steadily down his chest, then directly onto his crotch where Marcus can feel that the Keeper is half hard already. The Keeper smirks in a very un-Gryffindor way, before rolling his hips up slowly. “Oh, you know.”

Marcus leers at the brazen behavior. He leans down to lick a long stripe from Oliver’s navel up to his chest and takes a pink nipple into his mouth, sucking and scraping his teeth over it until he wrings a content moan from Oliver’s lips.

“So. Tell me about this dream.” Marcus moves his attention to the other side, repeating the process as Oliver struggles to string together words.

“Well let’s say there were school ties involved – _mmm_ – and maybe you didn’t exactly – _oh yes_ – have your hands free - _Marcus_.” Oliver manages, face flushing pink at admitting his little fantasy, but nonetheless enjoying the attention the Slytherin is laving on his chest.

Marcus feels a rush of arousal shoot down his spine. He doesn’t particularly like being restrained, much rather prefers holding down hips and being able to _feel_ everything, but if that comes with watching Oliver come undone on his cock, he’ll take it. The fact that he factors in Oliver’s wet dreams is also a fairly large ego boost.

Not that he needs an ego boost, but still.

Oliver’s hips are twitching against his thigh now, rutting slightly to get friction, and Marcus knows the feeling because his cock is still confined in his pants and it’s getting a bit too tight for comfort. He let’s Oliver rub a bit more, indulging him, before unzipping the fly hastily and tugging the Keeper’s pants swiftly off of pale hips. Oliver shudders as Marcus’s fingers brush lightly over his cock.

“I doubt you’re cold.” Marcus teases. It’s still sweltering in the dorm, damn the raging fireplace, and he’s still sweating. But that’s the least of his concerns, really.

The younger boy smacks Marcus’s chest. “Sod off, you git.”

But then any more of his complaints are swallowed by Marcus’s mouth. Oliver tastes like the lemon candy he loves sucking on and Marcus doesn’t know if what he can’t get enough of is the taste or the pleased little sounds Oliver is making beneath him as he languidly rolls his hips.

Oliver pulls away, panting. “Did someone cast a heating charm here? Fuck, it’s hot.”

“You think?” Marcus snorts. Oliver is flushed already, always an easy blusher. Marcus doesn’t stop running his hands up and down abs, thumbing hipbones eagerly.

“Mm. So hot. Not sure why you’re still in your pants.”

And Marcus rolls his eyes at Oliver’s cheeky comment, before shedding his last article of outerwear. He leans back down, spreads his body over the Keeper's, who grumbles under his weight, but now it’s only the thin fabric of their boxers keeping them apart and it’s just enough of a tease to get Oliver to shut up.

“Better.” Oliver grins, and then he’s reaching underneath Marcus’s waistband before the Slytherin can react and grasping his cock firmly, stroking with tight, rough movements the way he knows Marcus likes.

Marcus bites back a groan, hips unconsciously thrusting up into the tight circle of Oliver’s hand. Oliver’s mouth closes over his to swallow his noises. God, he loves this.

He reaches down himself, hand delving past red plaid boxers (Marcus snorts at just how _predictable_ Wood can be) and does the same for Oliver, who rewards him with a breathy little sigh. Oliver’s cock is long, a little thinner than his own, and Marcus thumbs at the sensitive slit for two heartbeats before mirroring Oliver’s quick strokes.

“ _Yes_.” Oliver hisses against his lips, eyes closed in pleasure. They’ve both been pent up, either planning Quidditch plays for the next few matches, or practicing, or attempting to study for NEWTS, so time to actually get in a proper fuck has been rare.

It’s too stuffy and hot for that right now – which is another reason why Slytherin is superior, because honestly, who ever allowed room temperature getting in the way of _sex_ \- but the slick slide of Oliver’s hand on him is still leagues better than what he’s been resorting to with his own right hand. The sounds Oliver makes are also wonderful to hear. Because he’s making the Keeper unravel with just his hands, just like that, because Marcus is the only one who can touch him _like this_ , and it’s heady because Oliver Wood is _all his._

He runs a finger lightly over Oliver’s weeping slit, and the brunette gasps against his chest, shuddering.

“Fuck…don’t…”

“Sensitive, are we?” Marcus does it again, and again, until Oliver’s squirming in his grasp, hand forgetting to move as he’s wrought with pleasure.

Oliver glares up at him. “Shut up – _ahhh_ – haven’t had time to…do anything, _oh please_.” Oliver’s eyes are screwed shut, white teeth biting at his lips to keep from moaning too loudly.

Marcus just keeps doing it, because he _likes_ watching Oliver like this, muscles tensing, panting and lustful and _needy_. It takes a finger running lightly across Oliver’s hole and him stroking two, three times roughly for the Keeper to come undone, back arched as he spills over Marcus’s hands.

His mouth dries at Oliver, slack mouthed in pleasure. It’s always a sight, no matter how many times he’s seen it since that day in the Charms classroom a couple of months ago.

Gorgeous, really.

Oliver seems to return to his senses, pushing Marcus down onto the bed, kissing him fiercely. He’s allowing the Chaser’s sticky hands to knead at his ass, much more focused on rubbing his thigh harshly against Marcus, trying to draw out the groans from Marcus’s mouth, if the enthusiasm with which Oliver is going at it shows anything.

He throws his head back as Oliver latches onto his neck, only to see the door swing open from where he’s upside down, tell-tale shock of ginger hair and a face buried in a book meandering into the room.

“Oliver, did you by chance – OH MY GOD, _OLIVER_!” Percy Weasley crashes back on the dormitory door, hand clutching his chest as if scandalized.

Which, Marcus thinks hazily, the Head Boy probably is.

Oliver scrambles off in a flash, nearly kicking Marcus in the balls in the process and tries to babble out an explanation, eyes wide and state of undress not leaving much to the imagination. Marcus attempts to dignify himself by burrowing under the covers so as to not give Weasley an eyeful.

He’s also making a sad attempt to hide, which he’ll deny until his death. Flints aren’t scared of bloody Weasleys, even when their faces are tomato red and looking to burst. Then again, the Head Boy does have a reputation of being terribly good at hexes.

Damn.

“Shut the bloody door, Percy!” Oliver hisses, and his roommate complies, face aflame at the state he’s found Oliver in. “It’s – it’s not what it looks like, I swear!”

Marcus snorts. It’s pretty obvious what they’ve been doing, and Weasley’s face is rightly skeptical.

“Flint? Of all the people in this castle, you- you choose to… _hook up_ with Marcus Flint? Oh Merlin, my eyes…” Percy moans begrudgingly, taking his glasses off to wipe them on his robes. Oliver’s managed to get his pants back on, hastily tossing Marcus his own in the process, but the Slytherin can’t be bothered to put them on.

He’d much rather watch Oliver try and talk himself out of this. The Keeper’s face is already terribly pink, and it’s just so goddamn _amusing_.

“Perce-”

“There are plenty of people in this castle, plenty!” Percy puffs, “I mean, t-that Ravenclaw in our Transfiguration class, he seems interested! And that blonde that asked you to Hogsmeade, the other day! Don’t even get me started on the multitude of _fangirls_ you seem to have. And here you go, choosing Flint! I thought you hated his very being!” Weasley gives Marcus a piercing glare from where the Slytherin is still sprawled on the bed.

Oliver huffs, shooting Marcus a look to _help me goddamnit_.

Marcus just shrugs.

“Percy, I don’t _hate_ him.” Oliver starts tentatively.

“Weren’t you ranting about his, and I quote, “cheating, scummy, no good plays” just the other day?” Percy raises an eyebrow, mouth twisting into something akin to a smile and a grimace.

Marcus raises his head from his hands. “Excuse you, my plays are what?”

“Not now, Marcus!” Oliver squawks, flapping his hands at him. Marcus begrudgingly lets him have this, but glares back at the younger boy.

“First name basis. Ha.” Percy flops down onto his seat at his own desk, looking as if he’d just heard one of his younger twin brothers was being made Head Boy. “Oliver, are you going to explain or are you going to force my hand and make me take points off?”

Marcus forces himself upright, snickering. “Points for what, Weasley? Scarring your poor virgin eyes? Oh, the _tragedy_.” Percy turns redder, mouth open and trying, no doubt, to string together a denial and a comeback at the same time.

Oliver clamps a hand down over his mouth before Marcus can continue. “Not helping! Not. Fucking. Helping.” The Keeper scratches nervously at his neck. “Alright, Percy, I guess we’d better come clean.”

Marcus tugs the Keeper’s hand away from his mouth. “We? Don’t include me in your little roommate quarrel.”

“Shut up, you bastard, if I’m going down, I’m taking you with me.” Oliver shoots back, jaw jumping in annoyance.

Percy clears his throat.

“I honestly can’t tell if you guys are about to kill each other or go back to what you were doing beforehand.” He turns blue eyes on Oliver. “Well?”

It takes a lot of self control not to remark on the prissy tone the Head Boy is speaking in, but Marcus can proudly say he kept himself in check. For Oliver. Right. Not scared of Weasley hexes, no sir.

“Look, I don’t really know either, Perce, we just err. Well.”

Percy crosses his legs, and looks expectantly for Oliver to manage to come up with a reasonable explanation.

Oliver huffs, throwing himself back on his bed. “Fine, okay, I don’t hate Marcus. We’ve actually been-”

“Spiked with love potions?” Percy says hopefully.

“Fucking. For two months, actually.” Marcus chimes in, grinning sharply and going in for the kill. He gets the reaction he wants as the Head Boy’s face screws up like he’s swallowed an Acid Pop whole. The Slytherin leans back on his arms to watch the chaos unfold.

“Oliver!”

“I don’t know, okay?! It just happened!” Oliver explodes next to Marcus, throwing his hands up. “Look, I’m serious, I never actually _hated_ him.”

“You wanted to throw him off his broom that time Slytherin won last year!”

“Yes, because _I_ wanted to win! Two very different things, Percy!”

Percy continues, undeterred. “You said his face would be better smashed into a wall just two weeks ago.”

Marcus raises a dark eyebrow at Oliver, who’s spluttering.

“That’s because he took our practice time again! Honestly, Flint,” Oliver turns an accusing glare to him, “You need to stick to the arranged schedule we have, it’s a problem.”

“Nah.” Marcus says, nonchalantly examining his fingernails.

“How did you two manage to stop throttling each other and – become this?” Percy says, face indicating that he’s not believing what’s unfolding in front of his eyes entirely. “I mean it was kind of weird when you were going on about Flint ignoring you at the beginning of the year but…”

Oliver looks sheepish.

“Uh. Yeah. That’s kind of when it all began?” He poses it like a question, eyeing Marcus to see his reaction, because the move from rutting against each other like the horny teenagers that they are, to something tentatively, well, emotionally-driven, to say the least, is never an easy subject between them.

Not that they’ve ever _talked_ about it, per say, but at least that’s what Marcus _assumes_.

Weasley doesn’t need to know that there are emotions involved on his part, but still.

Marcus slides in before Oliver can ask for his input. “Tension on the pitch had to go somewhere. Now keep your little mouth shut about this and piss off, Weasley.”

Percy splutters at being kicked out of his own dorm, but Marcus draws himself up – his height and breadth sends the right message to the much slighter Head Boy, and the red head whisks himself out before Marcus needs to get physical. He’s pretty sure Oliver wouldn’t be happy about him roughing up his friend, but if it needs to be done, he’ll be glad to do it.

 _Someone_ needs to put that poncy git in his place. Marcus is doing it for the greater good, really.

Marcus sprawls back onto the bed sheets, heaving a sigh of relief at no more of Weasley’s presence in his personal space. He’s about to pull Oliver back down to continue what they were doing before they were so precociously interrupted with, but the brunet is staring at where Percy had last stood with a furrowed brow and a downturned mouth.

“Wood.”

Oliver’s silence is making Marcus’s skin itch, and he tugs lamely at the younger boy’s shoulder.

“ _Wood_.”

No response, yet again.

“Oh for fucks sake, Oliver, what’s got your wand in a knot now?” And he can’t help the note of exasperation crawling into his voice, not when Oliver is pointedly stewing in his own thoughts again, tension apparent in his shoulders. Marcus wracks his brain for what he could’ve done wrong in the past ten minutes and, honestly, besides threatening Percy Weasley with bodily harm, he can’t think of anything much.

He runs his hand along Oliver’s arm without thinking. “Look, I was just getting Weasley out of our hair, I wasn’t going to rough him up that much. Well, this time.” Marcus adds as an afterthought.

Oliver swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing, before turning around swiftly. “Percy didn’t look pleased.”

Confusion clouds Marcus’s features. “What do you care about what that swot likes or not?”

“I have to! He’s my best friend and I live with him, for Merlin’s sake. It’s just-” Oliver turns faintly pink, then waves his hands animatedly again, “Forget it. It’s stupid.”

Marcus rolls his eyes. “Obviously not. What’s going on in that empty head of yours?”

Oliver smacks Marcus’s chest at the insult. “Nothing.”

“Wood.”

“Nothing, I swear.”

“ _Wood._ ”

“Alright! Alright, fine, don’t – I swear to god, if you _laugh_ …” Oliver huffs, and Marcus waits expectantly.

The Keeper screws his eyes shut, no doubt trying to call up some bloody courage, and its already kind of hilarious, if Marcus is being honest, but he’ll at least hear the agitated Keeper out before taking the mickey out of him.

Oliver mumbles something and for a second Marcus thinks he’s misheard.

“What?”

“I said, god, Flint are you deaf – I don’t know, Percy just _jumped_ to ‘hooking up’ as the obvious conclusion.” Oliver says louder, looking conflicted and embarrassed, face flaming up even more.

“What do you care about that for?” Marcus says incredulously. “Last I checked, you weren’t making out with Weasley-”

Oliver cringes, but Marcus isn’t sure whether it’s from the mental image of kissing a Weasley or something else.

“I don’t – look, it just.” And Oliver stumbles over what he’s trying to explain. Marcus is sitting upright now, head trying to wrap around what’s gotten Oliver so upset. Because so what if Weasley only thought they were hooking up? What does that even matter?

“Just makes me question shit.” Is what Oliver settles on.

“Question what?” Marcus feels a surge of anger and panic rise up in his chest. “This? Bloody hell, Wood, don’t tell me you’re going to back out because of Weasley-”

“I’m not! God, you say ‘back out’ like this is - is an _arrangement.”_ Oliver spits.

Marcus blanches. “Is this what this is about?”

Because, okay yeah, they’ve never framed what they’ve been doing, never had that talk that all the girls seem to clamor on about after a month or so, but he’d just assumed they’d both been on the same page. It’s not like Marcus Flint just goes around referring to everyone as his boyfriend in his head, does he?

Oliver looks genuinely miserable, and Marcus both wants to curl around him and smack some sense into the Keeper.

“Half the time I feel like you just want to, you know, have your way with me, and leave.”

“What the fuck.” Marcus splutters, because god, Oliver can’t be this dense. “That’s what happens when you want to keep this a secret!”

“What even _is_ this? Because yeah, I don’t want people to think there’s something going on if it’s just going to be fucking around.” Oliver snaps, and his eyes are blazing.

Marcus takes a couple moments to quell down his own anger – he’s gotten better at controlling it, this year, but it still flares, makes him act on impulse, and right now pushing Oliver down and _proving_ that he’s Marcus’ isn’t exactly the right message to send.

Marcus runs a hand through his black hair and tries to keep his voice under control.

“Look, look – I thought we didn’t need to talk about it. I thought you didn’t want to talk about it! Merlin, I don’t even _know_ how to talk about it!”

Oliver’s avoiding his gaze; it’s pissing him off, but makes his heart sink like an anchor at the same time. So he settles for grasping the younger boy’s shoulders and turning him roughly towards him. Oliver doesn’t resist, but he’s also grimacing.

“Wood.” Marcus tries, but he doesn’t know where to start. Doesn’t know how to put into words the jealousy that flares up in his chest when Roger Davies smiles a little too long at Oliver, doesn’t know how to describe the swooping feeling when he manages to make the boy in front of him laugh, white teeth flashing and all. Doesn’t know where to even start about how Quidditch and competition and Oliver Wood are all tied up in one big complicated tangle in his life.

He settles for “You think I’d just lay there while you slept like a deadweight on me for a, a what - a fuck buddy?” And hopes that’s enough.

The tightness in Oliver’s shoulders seems to dissipate a little, so Marcus surges forward, calling up an uncharacteristic amount of stupid Gryffindor-esque courage.

“You think I’d actually agree to study Charms with just anyone? You think I’d let anyone else drag me into Hogsmeade to do Christmas shopping? God, Wood, I knew you were daft, but not this dumb. Thought I was the one that failed last year.” Marcus ends with a groan, attempt at saving face seeping out of his bones.

But at least Oliver’s smiling slightly, even when he says, “I distinctly remember someone pulling me into an abandoned alleyway in Hogsmeade for a quickie.”

Marcus sighs, and gives up at trying to give Oliver his space. Instead, he pulls the brunet against him harshly, encasing him tightly against his chest. He’s at least glad that Oliver is letting him.

“Fuck, I thought we were on the same page.” Marcus murmurs against the top of Oliver’s head, brown hair tickling his nose.

Oliver gives a noncommittal shrug, as if trying to brush off the very real anger and agitation and sadness that had flashed in his eyes just moments before.

“No, c’mon.” And Marcus leans in to kiss him, trying to be softer than usual. “Should’ve brought it up. We’re – we’re together, alright? Like dating, boyfriends, that shit.”

“I thought about it too much.” Oliver admits, but he’s looking more pleased and relaxed than he had just moments before. And that, that makes the knot unravel in Marcus’s chest.

Marcus clears his throat. “I’ll try to be, you know, more – more romantic?” And he can’t stop the grimace that twists his face at the word, because Merlin, romance as a concept is just as foreign as Muggle technology to him. He’s a fighter, a brute, and delicate things like flowers and romance don’t overlap. And are frankly, overrated and kind of gross.

Oliver snorts loudly. “You look like you’ll get an aneurysm if you do. No, I’m…I’m glad that we cleared it up. Was what I needed.” And with a swift move, the Keeper pins Marcus back against the mattress, straddling his torso with strong thighs.

Marcus blinks. Oliver grins.

“Probably wouldn’t have been a problem if you weren’t such a horny bastard.” Marcus grumbles, and Oliver laughs, before leaning in to shut him up with lips and teeth and tongue. 

***

Outside, Percy Weasley casts a hasty silencing charm against the dorm door as tell tale _sounds_ start issuing out.

It’s terrible and cruel, Percy laments to himself as he cracks open a large textbook, the amount of sexiling that’s going to happen to him for the rest of the year.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
